


Argue

by NeoVenus22



Category: Power Rangers S.P.D.
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-26
Updated: 2009-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Z reflects on a fight she had with Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Argue

The first time you and Jack ever fought, once the anger had worn off, you'd cloned yourself for company.

You were just kids then, just stupid children, and you were hanging out with your twin you, reading a cheesy, girly magazine that you'd picked out of someone's recycling bin (S. Cole, read the name on the mailing label), and the two of you (one of you) had spent two hours looking over bios of teen stars until you'd memorized Jayden Joel Cadence's favorite color (blue), food (strawberry Pop-Tarts), and song (2000s pop). Finally Jack had come over, and he'd apologized for whatever it was that he'd done. You don't remember now. It was something stupid, you'd both known it, and you'd both said things you didn't mean.

The thing was, you couldn't stay not-friends for long. Sure, in theory, you were easier to find if you were together, but you worked so well as a team that you were impossible to catch. Your friendship was the key to your survival.

Now it's not a team of two, it's a team of five. And loyalties are being spread all about. You've both said things that you shouldn't have. Things that you regret. He accuses you of trying to alienate yourself from the team, because you're nasty to Bridge when all he means is to be friendly, and you insult Syd at every turn. At that, you lose it, telling him that you were the one who wanted to join the team in the first place, not him, and the only reason he cares is because he spends all of his time flirting with Syd and not actually leading. And he can't talk about teamwork when he and Sky snipe at each other every chance they get. Maybe they all would have been better off if Sky had been chosen to be the Red Ranger, you snap, and something changes in the air between the two of you right then.

You wish you could tell him you didn't mean it, because you didn't. Because you've been following Jack's lead for years now, and without regret. You don't hate Sky, and you trust him, but he's as close-minded and as stubborn as you are, and he takes things far too seriously. You want to tell Jack all of this, but it wouldn't mean anything now. You can't take back even a second of distrust, because it will forever linger between the both of you. You will laugh and joke and play around again like you always do, but in the back of your mind, you will always hear him saying that maybe Cruger made a mistake choosing you at all.

Coming from Sky, it would mean nothing. Sky says that to everyone at some point or another, and it's not like he knows you. But Jack knows you better than anyone, and knows that doubt plagues you, as you've come up with the lowest scores during the field exercises over the past two weeks.

After that first fight, he'd come and sat down next to you, and without a word, the second Z waved at you and disappeared back into the nothingness she'd come from. Jack had took one look at your lame reading material, and laughed, and then the two of you had built a fire, thrown it in, and stayed warm through the night. His arm was around you, and your head was on his shoulder.

Now you sit there, and you can't have a silent apology. You've called each other names (self-absorbed jackass, self-righteous bitch, arrogant, snobby, hypocrite, weak, moron, annoying, hopeless, useless). You've said things. You know you wouldn't have said them if you didn't believe them a little bit. Now you sit. It's warm in the rumpus room, and you're alone together, and the hum of the machinery is almost like the hum of the city waking up in the mornings.

You were a team of two within a team of five. The other three had known each other for years, like you had known Jack, and they didn't trust you, like you didn't trust them. You can't remember when things shifted, but you wish more than anything that things were the way they were in the beginning.

"Jack, weren't we going to go train about now?" chirrups Syd from out of nowhere, and you try not to glare. A grin comes easily to Jack's face, a hurried, "Of course," and he's standing, moving, at the door, out the door. You're alone again, and you resent him for it, when you used to be the one that would tell him to try and fit in more, to give the team and the mission a chance.

It's been five years now, and Jayden Joel Cadence no longer has a career, but you're sure within the extensive depths of Syd's 'library' contains the intimate portrait of yet another pretty boy. Most likely with an accompanying shirtless photo. You close your eyes in a sigh, ready to summon up a playmate for the afternoon, when a familiar set of dreads (_You know, you could run faster if you didn't have all that weight on your head_, you'd taunted him once, while escaping the SPD for the second time in a month) pops itself back in the room (at the time, he'd only laughed, slightly out of breath, and shrugged in grinning Jack fashion). "Z, change of plans," he announces now. "We're going to play some quickdraw lightball. You know I need you on my team."

You jump to conclusions, as you are wont to do, assume it's pity. But it can't be, because he doesn't know how you feel. And you know he wouldn't ask out of a sense of guilt. You can see it in his eyes: the lack of apology, the lack of pity, the lack of anything. He wants to play lightball, and he wants you on his team, and he wants the two of you to kick Bridge's and Syd's butts.

You remember the day you first the first day you met them. You and Jack shared a tiny moment, having worked together for so long, and so tightly, that you could almost read each other's minds, could communicate whole volumes with a single glance. When SPD came knocking at your door —a new breed of cadets your age who could run a lot faster than the squads of old that panted and heaved after three blocks— you'd shared a look before launching into action. You're on his team, and you're going to kick their butts.

You get up and join him. You can still remember the words he threw at you, and you are desperate to prove him wrong. You're going to win—not for Jack, not for yourself, but for your friendship. To remind him of his place. And your place, together, as a team.


End file.
